


Sleep Eternal

by Scavenge4Dreams



Series: Insomniac Dreaming [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A little language, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author has answers. Promise., Avengers Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sad, Sleep Deprivation, Steve Feels, Sweet, Tony Feels, not what it seems, on occasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavenge4Dreams/pseuds/Scavenge4Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don’t fall asleep.  You’ll never wake up. </p>
<p>One by one… they sleep. Thor. Clint. Bruce. Natasha. Steve.</p>
<p>Tony.</p>
<p>Don’t fall asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep For All Eternity.

****

****

Have you ever woken up, looked around and seen your five best friends, your only family, in relative positions of discomfort and stages of waking -noticed that they were the only familiar thing about _any_ of your surroundings– and realised that you didn’t remember _anything._

Neither had Tony, until 10 minutes ago.

“Tony…?”

That was Steve – Tony could just make out the Captain rolling over and sitting up to lean against the nearest wall, his blonde hair a glowing halo in the dimly lit room. Steve swivelled as he searched the near vicinity, categorising each team mate and their apparent condition.

Tony sat up awkwardly from where he was completely hidden beside Thor’s inert body. Using his tied hands, he propped himself up on the ridiculously massive chest, answering Steve with a soft, “Here…” as he tried to shake Thor into wakefulness.

“Hey. Hey, big guy – rise and shine…something’s going down and we may need our resident god on hand…” a few more ‘less than subtle’ prods had the Asguardian shuddering to his feet in the same manner he did just about everything else – loudly and with great enthusiasm.

“Where hides this treacherous foe! We shall smite hi- …Loki, you had best not be behind such tomfoolery as this!” he boomed. He caught Tony as the still bound genius was toppled backwards and easily re-setting the billionaire on his feet, as though it were an everyday occurrence.

“Shh! Unknown territory…quiet.” And that was definitely Black Widow, not that Tony could see her lithe form in the inky shadows, but it was confirmation of her presence and therefore enough.

The audible snap of the rope binding Thor was echoed by its twin as Steve followed suit. Tony was about to complain and demand assistance when a shadow broke free of its brothers and materialized into an assassin, hands already free and brandishing a lethal 3inch blade.

Decidedly Hawkeye rather than Clint, the archer was all business and noticeably less humour, “Hands.” he demanded quietly, blade slicing cleanly through the heavy bindings, before he disappeared as smoothly as he’d appeared.

Tony could make out Thor and Steve forming their standard protective brace on both his left and right, their considerable reach forming a ‘sanctuary circle’ between them.  Clint had retreated back to his dark vantage point, and although his bow and quiver were missing, he still managed to locate a small armoury from within his streamlined black suit, standing vanguard.   Natasha, he could now make out crouched low over what could only be the still unconscious form of Bruce.

Tony’s heart leapt and he made his way closer, dropping to a knee beside the petite killing machine, hands already reaching for Bruce, before he registered Natasha’s voice. “…fine, just out…thought I’d leave waking him to you, he –especially Hulk, always responds to you best. Go ahead.”

Calming, Tony leaned down and placed a firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, speaking softly, “Bruce? – Wakey, wakey Banner - we’ve got a kidnapping to foil….aaah, there you are. How’s your happy-o-meter? We don’t need to be preparing for the imminent arrival of big green?”

Bruce sat up slowly, shaking away the last vestiges of drowsiness, blinking up into the concerned, if only half visible faces of his friends, “We’re fine – what’s going on?”

Tony rocked back on his heels, looking around at their mostly unknown surroundings and answered “We’ll, that’s just the question, isn’t it?”

******

Once all six were on their feet, they fell into their standard defence formation- Natasha taking up position behind and slightly to the left of Thor and Clint mirroring her behind Steve, bracketing Bruce and Tony in the middle, as their two most vulnerable members – sans hulking rage and titanium-gold alloy suit.

Slowly they crossed the small expanse, cautious and wary of their unknown surroundings, approaching the only light source, a low flickering flame in the centre of the room. A kerosene hurricane lamp greeted them, situated on a small lonely end-table, burning low and dim.

The group silently switched places, Tony sliding effortlessly through the gap created by Clint and into Steve’s position at the fore of the group, shadowed closely by Steve’s bulk as his vulnerability increased with the apex position.  Because tech – of any description, was Tony’s purview.

The lamp looked innocent. Like any other old fashioned kerosene, wick winding, hurricane lamp. Or it could be sitting on a bomb. It could be coated with some form of touch transferred virus. It could be an alien death device, disguised as a lamp. It could be a teleport or paralyser. Or it could just be a lamp.

It was just a lamp. 

Tony reached out and slowly turned the little dial that wound the wick higher, throwing the room – well, if not into stark relief, then at least into soft illumination, easily chasing away the shadows from corners and crevices.

They were in a room.  It had been suspected, but was nice to confirm. A small circular room, modestly painted in beige and trimmed in pale blue. Lush cream carpet sprawled beneath the deep indents of their booted feet. The tiny table supporting the lamp was the only furniture.  

A cardboard carton across the room depicted a flowing river and was labelled ‘Spring Mountain Pure Sourced Rainwater’, and beside it sat what looked like army surplus crates of MRE’s. Whoever had put them here obviously didn’t intend for them to starve to death.

 Or perhaps the rations were poisoned and offered an even crueller fate than starvation.

Regardless, the supplies were recognised and cast aside as irrelevant at that point in time, and they had no intention of staying long enough for them to become relevant. Natasha and Clint confirmed that there was no visible or audible surveillance in the room and the team turned their considerable attention to escaping.

The room boasted no windows and only one door, and the team sidled towards it, approaching from an angle, as Tony was swept back through the ranks to his rightful place besides Bruce.

The door, a standard interior separator door, pale blue in colour with a delicate cream handle, separated them from whatever was next.

Steve dropped to one knee, hands missing his ever present shield, yet hardly helpless without it.

Thor turned to stand by the wall to right of the door frame, his huge form ready for any intruders.

Natasha, garrotte loosed from her now flowing tresses, fell into place behind Steve’s form, her torso shielded by his kneeling bulk.

Bruce moved to crouch behind and at a slightly skewed angle from Thor.

Tony slipped back across the cleared room and dimmed the light, crouching behind the table, his hands clenched around the smooth polished legs in preparation of using it as a weapon should he need to.  

Clint ghosted around Steve and cautiously gripped the handle, intending to pull it open in one move, maximising the chaos and surprise, as well as shielding his upright body with the door.

As soon as their eyes had adjusted to the renewed plunge into murky darkness and each position was stabilised, Steve gave the ready signal – one quiet click of his tongue.

Thor raised his fists.

Bruce breathed through his nose, practising his calming mantra - the Hulk really couldn’t come out to play in these confines.

Natasha twirled her garrotte into formation one and fell completely still.

Tony’s hands clenched and then relaxed into a firm grip around the table legs.

Steve drew himself back, ready to lunge forward.

Clint threw open the door.

******

It was a bathroom.

A toilet, small wash-basin and garbage bin.

With no windows and no other door.

“How the hell- Check the ceiling and carpet…” Steve ordered, already falling to his knees to inspect the tiled floor of the bathroom, noting Natasha peering up at the perfectly normal and hole-less ceiling above him.

Tony fished through his pockets, hoping to find his charged cell phone, preferably within signal range.  That would have been too easy though. His phone, wallet, keys – even his suit bracelets were missing.

“I’m assuming that everyone else’s valuables are missing as well?” he asked, receiving the expected negatives.  With a disgruntled sigh, he turned the lantern back to its full illumination, before moving to join the search.

There wasn’t even a manhole.  The ceiling was smooth, jointed neatly at the wall.  The cool thickness indicated a heavy mass – concrete or brick, maybe even solid ground.

The ceiling and floor inspection soon turned to a wall inspection, but the results were the same. There was nothing. Or at least, nothing detectable.

Clint, his frustration mounting to a burst of rage, lashed out with a punch to the wall, and came away nursing his fist, cursing at the unblemished target.

He’d then turned to Thor and asked _him_ to punch the wall.

The Thunder God had done so, winding up to his full strength and letting fly with a huge blow that set their eardrums throbbing and Thor to looking disbelievingly at the completely unscathed wall.

Twenty minutes later the general consensus was that the room had no way in…or out. They were essentially trapped.

******

Clint was the first to sit down, flopping onto the carpet with a dirty scowl towards the room in general.   

The mighty Avengers, thwarted.

By walls, ceiling and floor. 

S.H.I.E.L.D was going to have a field-day.

Natasha moved to seat herself gracefully besides the sprawled archer, her own visible displeasure speaking volumes as to the eventual fate of their kidnappers.

Thor, murmuring one final Asguardian curse that he’d heard Lady Sif use in the past, finally admitted defeat and joined his S.H.I.E.L.D brethren on the floor.

“Well. I really don’t think it would be a good idea to let the other guy loose in here – this room would barely hold him – let alone his temper. Come on, give it up Steve…” Bruce said conversationally as he sank down besides Thor, beckoning Steve over from his fruitless micro inspection of the bathroom tiles.

The Captain, after a moment of obvious reluctance, nodded at the unproductiveness of his search and pulled himself up from his crouched position to stride across the carpeted floor and drop down against the wall, leaving only Tony still inspecting the baffling architecture.

The other five left him at it, knowing that the engineer, with his eye for detail, innovation and anomaly, would perhaps be the most likely to locate a hidden entrance. However, when a further ten minutes later, Tony also dropped down beside Steve and thunked his head back against the wall in despondent disbelief, they knew it was hopeless.

Gesturing with complete bafflement, Tony voiced, “Nothing. There’s nothing! We’re not going anywhere. If I had to guess, I’d say this was an enchanted or ‘magicked’ room, built _around_ us…but how the hell could that be possible? We’ve only been gone – what…You know, I have _no idea._ What’s the last thing everyone remembers?”

Silence fell for a moment as each thought through the muddle of their shambled recent memories and finally it was Thor who spoke first, “I recall a ball. Dancing. Feasting. Much fine ale.”

Clint was nodding in agreement, “I’ve got dancing as well – and look at how we’re dressed..” his gesture took in Tony’s dove grey Armani suit, which on its own wasn’t telling of anything, but coupled with Steve’s sleek black lines, Thor’s fancy _honour-held_ cloak (or, ‘the bearskin’ as Clint called it), Bruce’s tailcoats and Clint’s own suit, as well as Natasha’s form fitting emerald silk gown – all together obviously told of some sort of high society event.

Clint settled further into his sprawl, deciding that if they were trapped, he was at least going to be comfortable, as he said, “So – schmoozing the upper crust and then…bam! We wake up here?”

He got shrugs, nods and murmurs of agreement before turning to Tony with a raised eyebrow, “Dammit, Tony – Who did you piss off this time?”

Tony, who had been staring at the lamp, lost in thought until that point, came alive with his own vitriolic rebuttal, “Me! I’ve been on my very best behaviour – there’s only been…two – two! incidences in the last month! It must have been something _you_ did!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Was n- Hey!”

Thor laughed outright as Bruce reached across and swatted them both upside the head, telling them to “Behave.” before turning to look to Steve, as team leader, for a course of action.

Steve, smiling at the lightened mood and full out grinning at Tony’s smug self-satisfied smile upon seeing it, made a decision – “For better or worse, it seems we’re stuck here for the mean time – It looks like we will have to wait for S.H.I.E.L.D or our kidnappers to come get us… I say we take it as it is. Just relax, rest…until it’s otherwise, we seem safe enough in h-”

And that’s when the cloudy, red tinged gas started billowing into the room.

******

It streamed in from where floor meets wall and spread throughout the room, clinging wetly to exposed skin and smelling faintly of bleach.

The six sprang into action, despite there being little they could do, “Shield your face! Try not to breathe it in undiluted. Use your shirts!” Natasha called as she hiked up the hem of her dress, folding the silk over her mouth and nose, offering the other side to Bruce, who was closest, ignoring the indecent spectacle she made with the emerald material drawn up about her midriff.

Clint made a beeline for Natasha and Bruce, dragging Thor to the ground with him as he reached them, calling, “Stay low – it’s already rising!”

Steve grabbed for Tony, ignoring his mangled refusal and furious tugging, as he tucked the smaller form beneath him, angling Tony’s face into the smothering breadth of his chest, not allowing his lover, best friend and partner to pull away.

He could feel Tony’s fierce struggle to pull free – actually, no – to reciprocate equally in protecting each other.  The Captain hoped against hope that their kidnappers hadn’t factored in his Serum immunities, but regardless, he was not willing to risk Tony’s already jeopardised lungs, and used his full strength to immobilise the angrily writhing form as he shielded his own face as best he could against the carpet.

Was it some sort of sedative, to allow them to be moved? Something more sinister? A nerve agent? Bio-warfare? Some sort of deadly infection? Hallucinogen? 

They all wondered as they waited for the effects to start. And waited.   The gas rapidly dissipated, leaving the room as nonthreatening as it had been before, and still there was no side-effects.

Tentatively, they pulled back from each other, releasing clothes and smoothing out stinging skin from being smooshed too hard against cloth or carpet.  Bruce was already eyeing Natasha over, taking her pulse and asking questions, as Clint did his own self check besides them, Thor having wandered over to look for the source of the noxious cloud.

Steve hesitantly pulled back, releasing his locking hold as Tony took a deep gasping breath, glaring liquid death up at his lover, speechless with quivering rage.

Steve, unable to offer anything in his own defence, and knowing he’d be as furious, if not more so, should (when) Tony pulled the same self-sacrificing crap with him, simply pressed a kiss to thinned, bloodless lips and murmured a “Sorry…” as he pulled back further, eyes trying to differentiate between  rage induced breathlessness and something more sinister.

Satisfied Tony was unharmed, albeit furious, Steve started to get to his feet and check in with the others, when Tony snarled, and managing to take him by surprise, yanked him off balance and down flat on his back on the carpet.

Before he could voice his question, Tony’s own warm fingers were settled over his racing pulse point, and his head resting over Steve’s rapidly beating heart, listening for any anomalies within the adrenaline spiked heart rate.  Knowing it was as close to forgiveness as he was likely to get, Steve took it, gently running a large hand down the curve of Tony’s back reassuringly.

He felt fine. They all did.

Until a soft giggle broke the air around them. One they didn’t recognise.

Followed by a voice, inflected with psychotic glee, “That- my brave Avengery folk, was a little concoction of my very own. You’re probably sitting there thinking that nothing’s wrong. You feel fine. Right? But then, your pulse is racing, adrenaline coursing – you won’t feel anything. Until you relax.  And if you fall asleep? You’ll sleep for all eternity...”

******

For a second no one moved, and in the next instant all six where on their feet, back to back, instinctually settling into defensive postures.

“Show yourself!” Steve ordered, all the command and gravitas of Captain America present in his voice.

No-one answered and nothing happened.

Thor boomed, “What trickery is this!? I demand you face us as a warrior, instead of skulking in the shadows!” his body vibrating with the desire to call upon his lightning power, but he was unable to find anything to harness.

Natasha and Clint had fallen back on their shadier training, expanding their senses to spider across the area, feeling for anything odd or out of place - and re-established that there was no one else in the room with them.

Tony had been scouring the walls again, looking for anything that could hint at speakers or an intercom for a technological communication system, but at the lack of anything telling, he turned his focus inwards.

He could feel his own heart beating at a ridiculous pace, but was more concerned about the laboured breathing he could hear from his left, as Bruce fought to keep the Hulk under control.

“So. What the fuck was that?”, as he spoke, Tony saw Bruce relax slightly, and knew that he’d handled it right – rather than call attention to Bruce’s state he’d directed it towards their situation and given his fellow scientists analytical brain something to focus on.

Again, it was Clint who was the first to relax fully, dropping back onto the carpet, saying, “Best guess? We’ve just been poisoned. Now - chicken or beef MRE’s for dinner?”

Steve snorted as he too settled back to the floor, although he couldn’t relax, asking, “Anyone feel off? No one feels anything? Thor - you didn’t have an adverse reaction? Bruce…Hulk? Tony?”

Natasha, taking her cue from Steve, also sat down, drawing Bruce down beside her and urging him to answer.

Bruce, once again calm in his deliberate ‘Zen’ like state, replied dutifully, “No –I mean, I feel no different. The other guy got a little upset at the shock of it all, but it wasn’t the gas or anything.”

“I too feel as hearty as ever. I feel no negative effects of this gas substance.” Thor said, adding, “And you – Man of Iron – how fares your mechanical heart?

Tony, still on his feet, looking about the room, sniggered as he answered, “Birdman still needs a brain, but cowardly Bruce over there found his courage, Toto – he’s Thunder Dog. The wicked witch has her blades out…Tap your heels Cap, and let’s go home.”

Bruce and Tasha’s swats both missed the back of his knees as Tony sidestepped, but Steve’s didn’t – by virtue of the hand at his wrist that dragged Tony closer, and being aimed just that little higher.

“Hush you. Serious answer please.” The Captain demanded as he contentedly tucked an equally receptive Tony into the curve of his side.

Rolling his eyes, Tony answered, “The arc’s fine. I’m fine. ”

“So. Everyone is apparently fine. Anyone stop to consider if this is even real? Maybe it’s just this month’s disturbed nut-jobs idea of a prank…or the gas was wrong?” Clint voiced the theory, and each passing moment with no effect offered credence to the idea.

Steve rolled to his feet, moving to the crated food and water, “I’m going to hope that this is all a mistake – we feel fine, so that supports it, but I guess it’s back to ‘wait and see’ …although, the longer we go with just ‘waiting’, the better I’ll feel.  Now – let’s have a look at what’s on offer for…let’s call it dinner.”

Clint called dibs on chicken and Natasha refused one, but with good reason. Tony accepted whatever he was passed with no real intention of eating it. Bruce went for a curried option and Steve just chose whatever few he laid hands on first.

Thor tried one of each.

As Natasha grabbed Clint’s, Thor asked, “So ‘Em-are-ees’– another midgaurdian delicacy?”

Amidst short laughter Steve explained about military rations and supplies to an enraptured Thor. Natasha finished sniffing, eyeing and sampling Clint’s meal and handing it back, she moved onto Bruce’s.

The scientist relinquished his opened, yet untouched curried beef gracefully, Natasha raising the dish to eye level and inspected the colours and textures closely. She sniffed warily and finally tasted a tiny mouthful of the dish, before handing it back and moving onto Steve’s dinner.

She tried both his spaghetti’s and his beef stew with the same attention to detail, sure before she ate that the meal had passed all her checks.

Thor’s 11 varieties soon filled her small frame, each one tested and sampled before being passed back to its owner.

The super-assassin turned to Tony, hand out in expectation, even as Tony shook his head to answer negatively.  Steve appeared behind his lover and reaching over his shoulder, the Captain wrested the MRE from Tony’s lax grip and handed it to the woman.

Tony turned sightly and opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by Steve’s lips pressing gently against his.

“Please”, was all he said, and Tony capitulate.

Despite Clint’s catcalls and crows of “ _Whipped…so whipped!_ ” in the background, Tony was quite smug – with Steve’s arm still draped over his shoulder and the broad chest at his back, Tony found that he really didn’t mind being whipped.

Even when it meant eating and sleeping when there were more important things he could be doing with his time.

The MRE’s were devoured and water drunk, after being thoroughly tested of course. Thor was equally impressed with seeming magic of a hot meal without heat and the convenience of it all, as he was disappointed by the taste and impending future of only MRE’s for sustenance.

With no leftovers remaining, packaging and rubbish had been discarded in a provided garbage bag, concealed neatly behind the door in the bathroom, and the six had settled back into their various positions on the carpeted floor.

The atmosphere had been tense at first, heavy lingering fear and worry. Anger at having been so thoroughly hoodwinked. There had been planning, as they’d discussed all manner of relevant subjects, such as establishing a watch schedule (it never paid to be too lax), considering all the possible culprits of their unexpected confinement and rationing the food and water in the event of an extended stay.

As the serious matters were dealt with and ticked off, the conversation had dwindled into idle chatter and nit-picking banter (depending on which conversation they were involved with), Bruce explained the science behind the MRE to Thor, Clint and Tony devolved from intelligent insults to name calling, with Natasha subtly egging them on and Steve had just looked over his group with indulgent exasperation.

As the hours passed, with no way to measure time – even their watches were missing – the conversation got slower and steadily the periods of silence stretched longer. Steve estimated at least five hours had passed when the chatter finally ceased completely, the group settling into a comfortable lull of companionship, not needing to be broken by the surface familiarity of speech.

As the lingering rush of being kidnaped and the uneasiness of their surroundings grew stale and the team settled, full bellies, warm friendship, lack of apparent danger and comfortable carpet soon had each of them starting to relax.

Steve noticed it in the behaviour and body language of just about all of them before anyone deigned to say anything. Paleness, shivering, and tell-tale signs of budding headaches- he had them all, and so did most of the others.

Bruce was the first to speak up, knowing that with this crowd he’d be waiting a long time for someone else to admit weakness first. “Uh. I’m thinking there may be something to that gas after all – headache and nausea…anyone else?”

The other five looked to Bruce with concern and then gazes flickered searchingly over each other, worry and fear starting to inch in on contented relaxation. 

Natasha caved first, “Yes – Both those and a lingering weakness of the muscles.”

“I feel faintly ill, that’s all…Clint?” Steve exampled up, admitting the unfamiliar yet distantly remembered feeling of illness, before turning his enquiry on the visibly pale Clint.

The archer, sprawled out on his stomach, frowned, considering and then shook his head as he answered, “No, none of those…I don’t feel too bad, just a general sort of _offness_ , maybe…”

Natasha squinted at Clint, not seeing the hallmarks of a headache or the tell-tale paleness of the skin, but agreed that something was just a little _off_. Playing a hunch, she reached across Bruce’s supine body where his head was propped up on her thigh and brushed a hand against the back of Clint’s neck, frowning slightly as she reported, “You’ve got a mild fever – that offness… tight skin?”

Clint nodded in agreement, turning to Thor to ask, “How about you – thunder rumbling in that head or butterflies in your stomach?”

The Asguardian looked only slightly baffled, answering “No – I feel no presence of thunder, nor any ‘butterflies’…just an overall weariness that I am not accustomed to.”

Concern grew stronger as each listed similar and differing symptoms, and finally they turned to the only one who had remained silent.

Tony was leaning back against his lovers chest, his head lolling comfortably at Steve’s shoulder and his lower torso and legs bracketed by Steve’s own.  The bond’s arms -wrapped securely around Tony’s waist- tightened slightly when no answer was forthcoming and Steve turned his expectant stare down, meeting only the crown of Tony’s unruly locks.

“Tony. How do you feel – headache, nausea?” he asked, with just the tiniest amount of _‘Captain’_ infused into a voice that was otherwise purely _Steve_.

Tony finally tilted his head back, what was supposed to be a tiny reassuring smile gracing his lips as he answered, “Fine. I feel f-   _Hey_ … No! I’m actually- It’s the tru- I feel 100% normal!”

At each protested refusal and adamant denial of any ill feeling, the team became steadily less convinced – which considering they hadn’t been overly convinced in the first place, wasn’t really saying much.

Steve lifted Tony’s bodily as he stood, pulling his lovers weight up with him and settling them both on their feet, before hooking an arm around Tony’s waist and propelling him across the room. 

They stopped at the far curve of the room, and creating an illusion of privacy, their conversation was blockaded by Steve’s broad shoulders as he leaned in close to where Tony was propped nonchalantly against the wall.

“Everyone else has symptoms…and you don’t? Come on Tony – it’s hardly time to be hiding a potential weakness…especially with the rest of us down too…” Steve cajoled, one hand coming up to rest against Tony’s throat to sooth the sting from the words little.

Tony looked up at him, eyes liquid with intention and the next thing Steve knew he had one arm around Tony’s waist, the other in his hair and they were joined at the lips.

Pulling back, Tony grinned, eyes sharp and bright and _honest_ as he said, “I. Feel. Fine.”

Steve stared him over for an instant longer, looking for tells of a falsehood that he already knew he wouldn’t see. Finally nodding, the Captain drew them back over to what was essentially an Avenger puppy pile on the other side of the small lamp and pulled Tony back down into his lap as he said, “Tony has no symptoms –yet. Bruce, any ideas what this thing is?”

Bruce looked up from where he’d been taking Natasha and Thor’s pulse at the same time, and immediately started to speculate, “That…whoever he was, said that when we relaxed we would start to feel the effects of his gas. We’re all starting to get pretty relaxed, despite the situation.”

Natasha tilted her head as she thought, voicing her theory as she went “So – a nerve gas or hyper-stimulant cocktail perhaps. When our heart rate drops below a certain level we start feeling like crap…”

Nodding, Bruce agreed, “That’s essentially what I’m getting as well – Although that still doesn’t- Actually, just let me test something. Tony…”  Dropping Natasha’s hand, Bruce reached out and drew Tony’s right hand away from its lax position on Steve’s thigh. 

Using one hand to locate Tony’s pulse and the other to find Clint’s , Bruce waited until he had a decent count on both and then, shrugging he let go, “Tony’s heart rate _is_ slightly more elevated…although I can’t tell if that’s coincidental or if he just has a faster heart rate. You could have just inhaled less of the gas than us.  Whatever the case, it appears that you’re not effected.”

Steve ignored Tony’s heated look in favour of stepping in again, “Okay – so, we relax and we feel like crap. That’s the general consensus of the gas’s effects – yes?”

He was met with nods of agreement from all five, and was about to suggest a cause of action when Tony’s face suddenly swept bone white and he choked on a gasping breath.

“No. It’s much, _much_ worse than that.  _“And if you fall asleep? You’ll sleep for all eternity_...”  This. This is intended to _kill_ us.”

******

The horror and rage that had coursed through their veins upon the realisation had the added bonus of lifting all their heart rates again, and as a result all six where soon feeling much better. The only exception being the pit of dread that pooled in their stomachs at the knowledge of what would happen should they grow too relaxed.

“Everyone on your feet. We need a course of action.” Steve ordered as he stood, stretching and breathing deep, as he did in preparation of strenuous exercise.

The other five immediately followed suit, all falling into their place in the unconscious circle they formed.

Looking around at the group, Steve said, “Okay. The way I see –this bastard wants us dead. We’re not in that line of business, so let’s make it as hard as possible for him. Eventually, we’ll get out, he’ll come back or someone will come for us – and with Agent Coulson at the S.H.I.E.L.D helm, I don’t imagine it will be too long – we just need to hold out and stay awake.”

Seeing the enthusiastic gung-ho faces around him, Bruce added, “Let’s not go about this stupidly – acting first and suffering later. We obviously need to make sure our heart rates stay up and that we don’t, under any circumstances fall asleep – and the best way to do that is through movement. However, it’s a double edged blade – too much movement will only exhaust us and we’ll be worse off than before we started.”

“Indeterminate length break periods, with moderate exercise recommencing with each subsequent onset of symptoms, continuing until they settle.” Natasha broke the problem down and constructed the most effective plan, explaining it confidently.

Bruce nodded, but answered, “Yes – at least until I have some controls and can determine a base heart rate and length of symptom on-set, then we’ll reassess.” Plan hashed, he turned to Steve for implementation.

The Captain nodded, strategy and logic already settling into his mind as he said, “Right – anyone still experiencing symptoms, no matter how mild – exercise…moderate. Nothing high impact. Everyone else – take a seat until you feel the need. And keep Bruce and I- Actually, keep everyone informed of anything that might be relevant. We’re going to have to back each other on this one.”

Tony settled back onto the carpet, followed by Natasha, Steve and Bruce, while Clint started jumping jacks and Thor practised his hammer throw release form.

And they prepared for a very long few days.

No one could have known just _how_ long.

******

Clint and Thor both settled after between ten and fifteen minutes of exercise, plopping down on the carpet to join their chatting friends. The need to ensure that no one fell asleep setting the atmosphere slightly manic.    An estimated three hours later, Clint, Natasha and Bruce were crunching sit ups and squats as they waited for the slight onset of nausea and headaches to fade.

Steve lasted a further hour before he felt the sickening drop of his stomach muscles, and despite his body protesting, the super soldier forced himself to duke out a set of push-ups, glad when the feeling settled and he could return to Tony’s side.

The hours were cut only by trips to the bathroom and regular water/food breaks, the rest filled with as much inane chatter as they could stomach. All six were glad when the conversation delved into a deeper, more sensitive topic, glad for the respite from senseless prattle.

******

They were definitely well into their second day – by all ‘counts’ lunch and breakfast were over and evening approaching.  Bruce had managed to determine an emerging pattern, and it seemed that Steve generally only needed to break into motion once every six to seven hours to delay the symptoms.

Natasha and Bruce where both settled at around three to four hours, each exercising for a good twenty minutes to stave off the effects of the gas.

Thor was currently practising lunges across the room. With the most unpredictable pattern of all, the Thunder God was often fine for long periods of time before onset and then only allowed a tiny rest period before the next.

All five were worried about Clint.  Despite his ‘toughness’, the poor archer seemed to have the quickest heart rate return of all, each ‘break period’ lasting barely more than an hour, and his exercise bouts often surpassing the half hour mark. It was clearly exhausting the young man.

Tony felt nothing at all.

******

It was late after dinner, and energy was obviously waning – what hadn’t seemed that hard in theory two days ago was now proving to be much more wearing.

Thor had just sat back down, and for the first time in almost 4 hours, all six were seated together, and all seemed to feel okay.   They were discussing Fury’s eye and whether or not any of them dared present him with a Seeing Eye pup for Christmas.

It was Tony who noticed.

One minute he was still, leaning contentedly against Steve and enjoying the fingers that were tracing patterns into the skin at the base of his spine and the next he’d flung himself across the room, dragged Clint to his feet and shaken him like a ragdoll.

“Droopy eyes! Stop it. No one goes to sleep in here. We all walk out and thumb it at the asshole who put us here. Look alive or I’m tipping water all over your head.” He demanded, getting right up in the now wide eyed Clint’s face.

Clint blinked, once, twice and then let loose a shuddering sigh as he said a shaken, “Thanks Tony.”

In their heads, five people put him on their ‘watch list’

******

Steve guessed it was nearing four am by his internal clock, and he shook his head tiredly as he gazed about the five others milling about the room with him. 

It was like they’d hit a wall. As the 48 hour mark approached, it seemed as if all anyone of them could think about was laying their head down to rest. Admittedly, several were faring better than others – Tony had taken to following Hawkeye around just to poke and prod him when needed and Thor had taken Tony’s suggestion to heart, and wandered into the bathroom every half hour or so to douse his head under the cool jet of water at the basin.

Bruce had taken to bouncing increasingly complex equations off Tony, each trying to stump the other, hoping that the thrill of the competition would keep him focused and awake.

Natasha was as rock steady as always, yet Steve could see it in the pinch around her eyes and the millisecond hesitance that was now present in some of her answers.

Steve himself seemed to be doing better than most, but even he could admit to really starting to feel the alluring pull of slumber.

Something was bugging him about Tony, but Steve was damned if he could put his fatigued finger on it. His lover still seemed as unaffected as he had been two days ago. He hadn’t once felt ill or looked tired –whatever the case, Steve decided to just be glad the one he loved most wasn’t suffering as they were.

******

It was as if the ‘dawn’ of day three brought new energy to the assembled group. Or like they’d crossed the mountain and were now travelling at a steady easy lopping downhill pace.

Even Clint was more alert as they shared a breakfast of delightful MRE’s and water, Tony grinning like a loon at the apparent passing of the immediate danger.

Steve was seriously starting to hope that either the nut-job would return for them or S.H.I.E.L.D would hurry up and retrieve them, because at least today they had a chance of walking out strong and proud, rather than as jabbering sleep deprived messes.

He was broken from his musings by Clint’s soft groan and looked up to see the suddenly paling archer stumbling to his feet and moving reluctantly past the nausea to fall into a sit-up position.

Steve winced at his pained, weary expression and felt for his obvious growing dismay at the enforced activity, and from the corner of his eye he saw each of the others do the same.

Tony flinched to his left, and Steve looked down to see him studying Clint very closely, before his lover abruptly nodded and got to his feet, sauntered across the room and pulled Clint upright.

Before the archer could even question, Tony Stark was spinning him around the small room in a very abridged, rather amended variation of the tango.

******

A laughing breathless, energised and _invigorated_ Clint had been handed off to Natasha and Steve had found himself being dragged about the room in some approximation of a waltz.

It was _fun._

After that followed gentle sparring matches between mortal and god. Between Serum and Assassin. Between man and woman.

Clint taught Bruce the basics of Pat-a-cake, and Bruce had been strangely thrilled with the children’s clapping games.

Natasha had then taught them an absolutely _filthy_ variation of pat-a-cake that still had Steve blushing to recall.

Thor had taught them Asguardian chanting songs, and the louder one got the better.

Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Tony got involved in a four-way, Multilanguage cursing competition…which Thor one.  Who knew that bees could say _that?_

All in all, their third day passed in a much more pleasant fashion.

******

“-the rat got married! Had sixteen little mouse babies under my beautiful matre-”

Steve tuned out Bruce explaining to Clint that Rats would have _rat_ babies – not mice and turned to look at the closed bathroom door.

He turned back into the conversation to hear Clint add something about a cat and decided that his presence truly wasn’t necessary.

Besides, Tony had been gone nearly fifteen minutes, and Steve was starting to grow concerned.

Getting to his feet and waving off the anxious looks with a pointed nod to the bathroom, he left the group, hearing Clint over his shoulder “Anyone else realise that the Cap is headed to the bathroom…where our billionaire babysitter sequestered himself earlier….”

Steve blushed, although he was gladdened to hear Bruce defend his honour, the scientist saying, “Really Clint, I’m sure he’s just worried – Tony’s been gone a while.” And then shook his head as Bruce added, “Now, _Tony_ on the other hand…”

******

Tony had eased the bathroom door open at the soft knock and moved back to allow his lover entry.

Before Steve could even ask if everything was okay, he found himself with an armful of warm, pliant Tony.

Which, really, was more than okay.

Damning propriety and modesty, Steve’s hand fumbled behind him and flipped the lock on the door, and he tilted his head to the side to allow Tony’s lips access to the sensitive hollow at the junction of throat and shoulder.

The budding feeling of slight nausea that he hadn’t even truly recognised, fled as Tony’s strong fingers found their way into the short bristled hair at the base of his neck, massaging at the tense muscles and Steve sighed as he melted, his final reservations fleeing.

Tony sniggering knowingly at his giving in would never do though.

Large hands that had been settled at Tony’s shoulder and waist slipped around his smaller form, raking over expensive cloth and bunching the material shamelessly as he drew Tony closer to his body.

The swift change of angle threw Tony off balance, as intended, and Steve’s hands moved lower still, his strength easily allowing him to lift Tony from the ground fully, the heavy cradle of that gorgeous rounded ass dragging Tony up his thigh, rubbing obscenely against swelling flesh.

Tony moaned, low and dirty, and it sent burning embers shooting up and down Steve spine.

Apparently, Bruce was quite cluey.

******

 

It was mid-morning day four when Steve finally clicked as to what had been bothering him about Tony.

He’d been watching Tony, Bruce, Clint and Tasha _limbo_ under Thor’s arm when it had suddenly become so very obvious.

Tony stumbled slightly.

He righted himself immediately and offered a disarming smile at Natasha, the only other who’d noticed, and while this satisfied the assassin; Steve could have kicked himself.

Tony was going to crash. And crash hard.

He’d seen it so many times. Tony could (and would) go and go and go. Mind working at full tilt, amazing brilliance at open throttle – for days, sometimes up to a week on little to no sleep.

And then he’d just crash.

The lights would be on but Tony certainly wouldn’t be home.

He’d seen it, most recently a few months ago when Steve had returned home form a charity function only to find Tony completely and utterly exhausted, yet still attempting to work.

His _Tony_ , sweet, pliant, adorable and completely and utterly not for anyone’s eyes but Steve.

And always _always,_ after he crashed. Eventually -hours, even days later- _tony_ always slept.

******

It was nearing lunch on the fourth day and Steve was concerned, about everyone of course, and the situation in general – but most notably and most privately, about Tony.

He had been fantastic. An absolute godsend.  He’d kept Clint awake, entertained them, and encouraged them through bouts of terrible exercise.   Watched them feel ill, suffer, rinse and repeat, so many times with nary a word.

All with a stamina that should have amazed Steve – yet he’d seen it before but failed to recognise it for what it was in the mess of all the other issues.

When Tony inevitably fell asleep, would he be affected? _Would he wake again?_

 _What to do?_ Was there anything _to_ do _?_

_“Oh god! No! Don’t sle- Wake up! Please, Please wake UP!”_

The shout cut across his preoccupied mind with such sharp agony that Steve couldn’t even recall who had spoken. Spinning in place, his eyes came to rest on the small huddle on the opposite side of the room.

His heart dropped to his knees and shattered into a thousand pieces, his soul screaming _Tony_ as he leapt to his feet, fearing the worst.

Apparently his soul came out through his mouth, because huge grief stricken, shocked brown eyes jumped to his and Steve breathed a sigh of relief – _Tony._

And yet…

His gaze dropped to the lower, between the huddled bodies.

_Thor._

The strongest of them all.

******

Steve stared in stunned disbelief, his mind unable to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.

Thor – larger than life, overwhelming, awe-inspiring Thor… now still, silent. _Gone._

It was just… _absurd_. 

The man was an honest to God…well, _God._ Legend of a thousand generations. Eons old, and yet still so young.

Dead.

Thor lay where he’d slumped an hour before, after a particularly long series of stationary sprints. His face was relaxed, eyes closed peacefully, as if he’d awaken at any moment – only, somehow Steve just knew…Thor would never waken from _this_ sleep.

The Captain had seen friends fall in battle, watched friends wither and die of age, from long-term illness and by their own hand, yet nothing had prepared him for the possibility of losing _Thor_ – and certainly never like _this_.

Steve blinked, the scene spread out before him finally starting to filter through.

Bruce, kneeling by Thor, hands desperately pumping the massive chest, frantically trying to force life back into the god. 

Natasha – small and unobtrusive, slightly off to one side, the firm set of her jaw and thinning of her lower lip the only indications of her inner grief.

Tony, quiet for once- in a way that was more unsettling than had he burst into tears.  He was kneeling beside Bruce, at Thor’s side, and simply _staring –_ eyes wide and glassy, head tilted quizzically to the left.

Steve warred with himself, wanting to indulge in his own sadness and at the same time avoiding the tendrils of grief that already ate at him.  He also had a team to look after, and as always – their wellbeing won out.

Tony’s silent, confused sorrow was the siren that called him most strongly, despite Bruce’s fruitless, almost manic ministrations and Natasha’s quiet yet consuming grief, but Clint? Clint was on the precipice…

“-this can’t be happening. _Cannot_ be happening. This is – I can’t – He can’t….”  Clint sounded as completely devastated as Steve’s jumbled thoughts were – the archer kneeling beside the still body, his fists clenching and relaxing as if he wanted to shake Thor, so that he might waken.

Rambunctious, mischievous Clint – using sarcastic cheer to carefully mask his insecurities and vulnerabilities… and the masks had just been torn away.

Steve physically pulled himself together, moving over to where the small group was huddled.

Grief and anguish were not his forte, they made him uncomfortable and reminded him of things he rather left forgotten, and he knew it was the same for each and every one of his team – they’d all lost too much.

But for them – Steve would try.

He knew only one way to help Clint, and the same way would help Natasha. He pulled Clint from the floor, ignoring the archer’s futile struggle to remain at the god’s side – and propelled him slightly to the left; straight into Natasha’s open arms.

Hearing Tasha already murmuring in Clint’s ear, Steve left them to it, knowing that the pair had been through way too much to not take comfort in each other’s presence.  Natasha, much the same as Steve, receiving reassurance by offering it and Clint clinging to the one person he had trusted the longest and the most fully.

Bruce was harder, and at the same time easier…by virtue of the fact that Steve wasn’t the one who would have the most soothing effect on the scientist. To help Bruce, he needed Tony.

Looking down at his lover again, Steve had no idea what to make of Tony’s behaviour. It was almost more of a non-reaction than a reaction. Just an _emptiness._ It was disturbing Steve something terrible to see his usually animated love so…vacant.

The hands on approach had always been his style, and so Steve reached down and pulled the unresisting Tony to his feet, his large hands cradling the pale face and creating a blinker-like effect – narrowing Tony’s line of vision to only Steve’s face.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Tony beat him to it, fire coming back into his eyes as he spat, “They’d better hope I _never_ get out of here…”

The hatred seething in Tony’s voice barely masked the anguished grief, and Steve contemplated calling him on it, but decided that familiar anger was more useful at that moment- than grief that Tony didn’t even know how to process.

Steve didn’t get an opportunity to say anything else; Tony pulling away, looking around and immediately moving to Bruce’s side, as Steve had known he would. 

Rather than ordering Bruce to stop, or try pulling him away, Tony knelt down beside him, speaking softly, “Anything?” already knowing there wasn’t.

Bruce glanced up, acknowledged Tony and then stilled as he contemplated the question, stopping to feel for a pulse.   Resignation and acceptance passed over his face as he shook his head, dropping back on his heels, shoulders slumping- defeated.

“You tried -”, that was all Tony could say, and it was weak with insufficiency –but Tony had been best friends with Bruce for long enough to know where to direct his attentions, and added, “Clint - …he’s pretty shaken.”

Bruce looked over to the Clint and Natasha, taking in the archers pale face with concern. Relief at the unspoken task clouded his features as he said thoughtfully, “He’s exhausted, emotions always run closer to the surface…” he trailed out of hearing as he wondered towards the pair.

Tony stared after him for a moment and then dropped his gaze down to Thor’s body, murmuring softly, “Still my favourite”.

Silence settled over the room as Tony looked up to Steve and said, “We have to survive this – for him.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

******

Thor had just _died,_ even now, helay there _dead…_ the shock of it was beyond anything Steve had ever felt.

Just… _Thor._

At first Steve couldn’t see how they were going to cope- how were they supposed to just pick up and keep going?

How could they possibly continue to be _the Avengers_ without Thor?  How on earth could this have happened – and more so because it was _earth._ What were they going to tell Jane? Who would deal with Loki? God forbid – with Odin? 

And then, after twenty minutes of silent, cold stillness, Natasha got to her feet and fell into her basic warm-up kata.

Moments later, Clint joined her and Steve, Bruce and Tony were only seconds behind. The five moving through the familiar routine with ease and grace, even as eyes never left the still god, honouring him with their will to keep going.

This. This was real.  This was happening. 

Steve had assumed, if it was even real, that the gas wouldn’t actually kill them. After all, hundreds had tried and none had succeeded.  He’d subconsciously disregarded the threat to Thor, Bruce and himself especially – God. Hulk. Super soldier.

Thor was dead.

This was real.

******

In the back of their minds existed a hope that if they could just get Thor back home to Asguard, he may be saved. 

Steve pushed Clint into movement whenever he noticed the slightly glazed look returning to the archer’s eyes.

His own eyes followed Tony everywhere, watching for the cliff that Tony was approaching and hoped he had the strength to hold Tony up or throw him across the abyss.

Natasha was as fire and ice as ever, determination lightering her frame as she pulled from an acrobats roll and guided Bruce through a slower variation.

Bruce was more on tenterhooks than any of them, keeping his adrenaline high, without going too high, was a tiring processing in and of itself, and he was wearing the strain clearly.

He pushed them and cajoled them… Steve was determined that he wasn’t losing anyone else.

******

It was early the next morning, day five if they had been guessing correctly and the lamp had been cast low again, in an effort to conceal the still body across the room. They all knew he was there though, not one of them could forget it.

He’d been waiting for it, with more surety as the morning approached and when it happened Steve was right there, drawing the suddenly glassy eyed Tony away from a stunned and concerned Clint, over into the bathroom.

He lifted his lover’s mostly dead weight onto the basin, careful of the taps at his back. His hands ghosting along Tony’s thighs as he stepped up, into the gap between them. “Hey. Hey! You with me? Tony – you can’t sleep yet…”

Tony answered, yet it didn’t calm Steve, the genius mumbling an altogether unreassuring “’m not t’red” against Steve’s throat as he plastered his smaller frame against the broad chest and looped his arms about Steve’s shoulders.

“Tony! Come on -” he pushed Tony back, ignoring the clench of his heart at the reluctant grousing. God he loved _this_ Tony – and he hardly ever got to see him… it was usually sarcastic cantankerous, snarky Tony that came out to play when the genius got beyond exhausted.

Steve was at a loss, he’d never tried to rouse Tony from this state – only ever encouraged him to go to sleep.   A gentle shake didn’t work, and the effect of one a little more vigorous barely lasted long enough for Tony to glare adoringly at him.  Steve didn’t dare shake any harder.

Water was not an option. With Tony as out of it as he was, Steve was worried he’d pass out from the shock, or crack his head open and then pass out. 

One large hand settled beneath Tony’s dropped chin, and Steve raised the brown eyes to meet his, “Tony – you need to snap out of...oh for-” Tony’s eyelids drooped as Steve watched, and his lover listed to one side.

Steve, at a loss for what else to do, dragged Tony forwards by his collar, and claimed his lips in a fiery kiss, infusing as much passion and desire as he could dredge up. 

He pulled back and his heart leapt to see Tony’s eyes open, but fell just as quickly when Tony murmured through a yawn, “...s’nice…”

Steve shook his head, leaned forward and ghosted a kiss across pouting lips as whispered, “Sorry, love…”

His nimble hands made quick work of Tony’s shirt buttons, his jacket having been discarded days ago.  Steve pushed the shirttails back, revealing inches and inches of creamy skin, and reached for the snap and zip and the waist of Tony’s slacks.

A deft flick parted the opening revealing a crevice of sensitive skin just below waist level and Steve attacked.

His hand half muffled the shrieking yelp that escaped Tony’s mouth, and looking up through his eyelashes, Steve was so very, very glad to see intense brown glaring at him –and not a little bit smug.

A further flick of his warm tongue against the tiny patch of skin below Tony’s navel rewarded him with a sharply indrawn breath and a smarting grip in his hair as Tony dragged him upright.

“As far as the others are concerned – freezing cold water was involved. Got it?” he threatened as he drew Steve’s lips to his.

***

Knowing grins had met Tony’s vehement denials, and then eye rolls, at his cocky agreement.

And Tony was up again. Steve had never seen anything like it. They’d been awake over four days and each one of them was flagging dangerously, minds muted with slowly worsening fog and movements inhibited by sluggishness. Yet Tony was like magnesium, burning hot and fast…yet endlessly.

He herded Clint about the room, insulted Natasha to rile her and one-upped with Bruce. Steve he kissed.

Steve thought if they could just hold on like this….

******

Four hours later, barely more than a heartbeat, yet stretching for eons in their grieving exhaustion, Clint sat back down from his latest bout of still jogging and leaned against Natasha, smiling as she carded her fingers through his hair.

He’d caught her hand, pressed his lips to her wrist and smiled.  His eyes fluttered and then closed, as he gave in to the pull of slumber, going peacefully, knowing he’d never waken.

Natasha had just stared down at his slack face, not saying anything, unable to say anything.

Tony, who had been constantly shadowing Clint, noticed first and his anguished moan drew Steve’s and Bruce’s attention.

And the Hulk’s an instant later.

Surging to his feet with an agonized roar, Bruce immediately had the remaining three’s attention as he doubled over, physically trying to restrain the force of chaos that was battling to escape him.

Hulk didn’t understand, didn’t comprehend – only knew that his ‘ _Shooty-bird_ ’ was gone and that he was enraged by this.

Bruce understood, perhaps too well and also shared that rage, but knew that its manifestation would only cause more heartbreak.  He fought back, clinging to his control, refusing to allow the Hulk to come forth. His lips were white with the effort, his whole body strained tight and vibrating.

Calming down wasn’t an option, but he was fighting with everything he had.

And was losing.

“St- Please Stop me!! I Can’t- HULK…Plea- _Please_ ” he moaned, looking up through already sweat damp hair, pleading.

Natasha surged to her feet, alongside Tony and Steve. Clint lay forgotten for a moment as they faced the imminent threat.

“Please Bruce – Calm…It’ll – It’ll be o…I -” Tony tried desperately to work his magic, his seemingly natural ability to calm the hulk within – but his own grief and shock, coupled with Bruce’s proved too much, and Hulk only grew angrier.

Steve was strategizing, instinctively pulling apart the issue categorising the options, yet they seemed limited, “If I knock you out – your pulse will drop! I – we can’t-”

Bruce shook violently, “Do - Do it! _Please…_ Don’t kill me – KILL ME!” as little sense as that made, each of them understood it perfectly – Bruce would rather die than hurt one of them.

Tony protested vehemently, mindlessly, “NO! No – we can- I can… _no._ ”

Bruce’s eyes flashed green, helpless and fearful and _raging._

Natasha reached over and nerve pinched him, catching and lowering his still body to the floor in silence.

******

Bruce lay where Natasha has set him, colour still fleeing his slack face. His left arm loose and at an odd angle from the rest of his compact frame, draped listlessly close to Clint’s unmoving chest.

Steve turned, stumbled and didn’t bother righting himself, allowing inertia to guide him roughly to the ground, slumping haphazardly against the wall. His head dropping into his hands to hide _them_ from his eyes. _His failure._

He could hear Natasha – strong, silent and steadfast Natasha –softly sobbing as she used the hidden strength of her petite frame to move Clint over to where Thor lay.

Tony he could also hear – and he knew Natasha could too. How he wished she couldn’t.

Kneeling at Bruce’s side, Tony was simply staring, muttering under his breath in a completely _raw_ tone, “I could have saved him. I _could_ have saved him. I know I could have. I could have saved him.”

Steve’s heart was breaking and he didn’t know who for.

Natasha came back, this time for Bruce, and as she reached down for him, Tony looked up, straight at her, his turbulent brown eyes drilling into her desolate green, as he said brokenly, “ _I could have saved him._ ”

All the strength that Natasha had held onto so tightly, seemed to just leak out of her and she melted before Steve’s eyes.  The ease she’d shown while moving Clint fled, and she struggled to lift Bruce from the floor.

Steve could see them destructing before his eyes.

Two. He had two left to protect, and he pulled himself together.

Lifting Bruce, Steve followed Natasha to the other side of the room, letting her set the pace and guide their motions – any form of closure or relief he could offer.

He left her there, in her silence, and turned to Tony.

His lover was still muttering the repeated phrase and Steve didn’t hesitate, simply dropped to his knees and drew Tony to his chest. For all that he’d lost his parents and Stane…this was as close to death as Tony had ever been. The gut wrenching loss of one you had grown to admire, respect and love.    Yinsen had been a brush, but this – this was immersion. And Steve worried it was more than Tony could handle.

But Steve couldn’t let him break Natasha, “Stop, Tony. She had to… She. Had. To. Bruce needed her to. Stop. You’re hurting her.”

Tony finally, thankfully, fell silent as his gaze snapped up and he saw, _truly saw_ Natasha.

She was still kneeling by Clint’s side, her fingers gently ruffling through his hair as she gazed down at Bruce.  She emanated terrible guilt and torturous pain and Tony had slithered out of Steve’s embrace before he’d decided to, and hurried across the room to pull Natasha into his arms.

He’d also lost both his best friends, his brothers – and he was less eloquent than they’ve ever heard him, his words stuttered and broken, as he said “No. Tasha, _no…_ He- I’m sorry. _Sorry. You_ had to. I could have saved him. _I should have saved him._ ” He blamed no one but himself.

They sat their wrapped in each other, trying to absorb comfort from where there was none to give. 

******

Eventually Steve drew them both up and over to the side, against the wall they had all leaned against that first night, laughing and joking – no way of knowing that it would end like this.

Natasha he pulled in against his left side, she curled into a tiny ball, her russet head pillowed at his waist, her arm across his thighs and gripped equally tightly in Tony’s.  His love was plastered against his right – his head tucked at Steve’s shoulder, face hidden against his throat and Steve wanted to see his eyes but satisfied himself with the brush of lashes against his skin.

It was enough. And nowhere near enough.

It took a while, both Natasha and Steve having longer pulse return rates, but eventually the illness returned and the two were forced to their feet and into motion.   Tony joined them a moment later.

Steve gestured for him to sit down, the constant motion would only tire Tony faster – and there was no Bruce or Clint who needed egging on.   Not anymore.

Tony stared at him for an instant, wavered and then murmured something so low that not even Steve’s enhanced ears had a hope.

“Tony?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

Tony repeated, “I have to.” And the last of Steve’s tenuous hope dropped from the bottom of his stomach.  

“You feel sick.” He didn’t ask. He already knew.   

Tony nodded anyway and Steve shuddered – He’d so hoped that Tony wasn’t effected, that even if (when) his lover fell asleep he’d just sleep and then wake. That he’d live.

He didn’t say anything, as he had nothing he could say – simply pulled Tony into his own variation of a waltz and spun him about the room, as Natasha danced through an old ballet memory in the centre of them.

******

They’d eaten again, the tasteless MRE’s – more as something to do than anything else and returned back to their spot by the wall, reassuming their previous positions.

They spoke quietly, wondering who had finally succeeded in destroying them – and why. What deed had they done? Who would eventually find them? Why they hadn’t been found yet. Half their number was gone – Thor, Clint, Bruce – and not one of them could comprehend it yet. Could believe it. Yet the proof was still and silent across the room.

They fell silent, just being together, offering what they could - and then, between one breath and the next, Natasha slipped away.

Tony and Steve didn’t say anything, Steve just wordlessly moved her over to rest near Clint.

He returned to Tony, and dropped back to the carpet, reaching. He pulled Tony fully into his arms, settling him close, tucked sideways across his lap and cradled against his chest.  There was a murmured “I love you” and a brush of lips which was returned and then just the sound of breathing.

That’s how they stayed. Ignoring the encroaching illness and the magnitude of loss, they stayed wrapped in each other and denied the world anything else.

******

He didn’t know how much time has passed- couldn’t be bothered trying to follow it, when a soft sigh ghosted across his cheek – and then just a sudden terrifying stillness.

He pulled away slowly, took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes.  

They opened again and disbelieving agony widened them, as he breathed, “ _S-Steve?”_

Tony stared for a long moment, not believing. Refusing to believe, but his head had always followed what his eyes decreed and this was no different. The truth filtered in.

Steve was dead.

And Tony was alone.

******

Gorgeous, and glorious and perfect and gone – fury like no other beset Tony and he raged.

His head thrown back, Tony screamed at the empty room, wordless and disturbing in his intensity, before slowly morphing into understandable English, “…CKING KILL YOU! WIPE YOU OFF THE FACE OF THE PLAN- THE WHOLE FUCKING UNIVERSE! I’LL TAKE EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER LOVED! EVERTHYT- EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER KNOWN AND CRUSH IT.  _Why?  WHY!?_ … EVERYTHING! ANYTHING! God –I promise. PLEASE!! _Please… Anything you want...just-”_

No answer was forthcoming and Tony turned his attention to a different target.

He shook Steve viciously, demanding, crazed and irrational as he screamed, “YOU DON’T GET TO DIE – YOU CAN’T – CAN’T… _you can’t leave me – please…Why – It was my turn. MINE!_ I WAS NEXT. – I CAN’T… _I can’t, Steve…not without y-_ ” and then he finally found a target that could respond.

Himself.

And he broke down, wracking sobbing gasps for air that no one was there to soothe.  Slumping into Steve side, Tony simply cried.

******

His eyes were heavy and no doubt red and blood-shot when he finally let go, took his grief, the loss of almost his entire family and buried it deep. He breathed in, shaky at first, but becoming steadier and finally dragged himself to his feet. 

Steve’s dead weight took him several long minutes to drag across the room to the others and Tony was breathless by the end of it – but Steve had to be with his team.

Pressing a kiss to cooling lips, Tony pulled back and let his gaze linger before he moved away again.

Looking about the room, the emptiness setting his teeth on edge, Tony Stark did the only thing that Tony Stark truly knew how to do.

He persevered.  Got determined. Dug deep and pulled hard. Starks rise from the ashes.

Someone had to survive this. Had to escape and avenge his family. He was the last man standing- not the strongest, nor the best, but the last and he would do what he had to do.

Meticulously he rechecked very inch of every section of every wall, ceiling and floor.  

He spent hours screaming, hoping to hear something, _anything –_ an answering call would be best, but an echo or vibration would be telling emough. 

He sat quietly for days, in dead silence and listened for the hum of electronics or the whir of mechanics.

For three more days he moved, ate, rested, searched, hunted, wracked his brains and gave it his all.

And still had nothing.

He no longer believed that the kidnapper had any intention of returning, or that they could be found.

He was standing alive in the Avengers tomb.

His hands had started shaking, fumbling and unsure in his fatigue, his eyes swollen, burning and blurring. His head throbbed continuously and his heart along with it.   

And finally. _Finally._ He admitted defeat.

Because he wasn’t strong enough, not good enough…simply _not_ enough.

And he was so, so tired.

He looked over at the wall, where Steve had held him and told him he loved him – empty now.

He looked to the team, a silent cold huddled mass. Together in death as in life.   

Tony curled up beside Steve’s body – and just… _let go._

_********_

_The end._

_Until it’s not._


	2. Sleep to Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not what it seems.

 

Gentle strength opened the door slowly, Thor having already become accustomed to accidentally skewing flimsy midgaurdian architecture – nothing in the tower of course: that required a little more brute force.

Slipping his head and shoulder through the ‘not so small’ gap, the god noted that the patient was finally alone.  The room, and several others the same, had been a hive of activity for the past week or so, but for now, no medical staff fussed over the man in the bed, nor the machines attached to him.

The lack of witnesses allowed Thor to do what he hadn’t yet, and he entered the room, setting Mjölnir by the door with a soft ‘thud’. Crossing in two long strides, he sat, the white plastic chair creaking ominously beneath his weight as he settled into it, the thin frame barely supporting his musclebound form.   

Taking in his sleeping friend, Thor felt the guilt he’d been denying wash over him anew, and quietly he spoke, “I know not what you have – are – suffering through, my friend – all of you. I know only what I have gleaned from Clint and Bruce as they gain their heath. And that knowledge…humbles me.”

A huge hand, large enough to completely engulf the one it reached to grip, squeezed with belying gentleness as Thor continued, “I am sorry I was not stronger, that I did not persevere. I have no excuse, only a reason, insufficient as it is.  I was raised a prince, and as such, am not accustomed to denying myself anything. Not even sleep. I fear that my indulgence was my undoing and I left you all to suffer through my loss.”

The unusually pale skin contrasted strikingly with his own golden tan, and Thor sighed as he added, “You must not grieve, for I am not lost at all…yet I fear, if you, the good captain and Lady Widow do not waken soon- it will be _you_ who are lost– and that it will be my turn to grieve- for truth”

He waited a beat, hoping that his words might spur a reaction, his voice, presence, but none was forthcoming.  Getting to his feet, Thor continued, “Rest, Iron brother – as soon as he is able, Clint and I shall return to the scene of our incarceration and work to identify and apprehend this villainous foe.”

At the door, he turned, concluding solemnly, “Mark my words well, for I will not fail you again.”

Mjölnir was lifted, the weight a familiar soothing balm against his battered soul – he was still worthy. Thor slipped out the door and away, the only tell of his visit- one slightly warped plastic chair.

******

The lights were off in the small room when Clint ducked through the door, and they stayed that way, the archer preferring the dark, rather than having to see his friend in the stark reality of what was happening.

Crossing the room, navigating easily by associated memory of other similar rooms, Clint hesitated for barely an instant before sliding onto the foot of the bed, crossing his legs and perching.

He’d say he was guarding if anyone asked.

 “So – Bruce told me what happened after I - …” looking away, Clint cleared his throat and tried again, “Look – I’m sorry. I know, trained assassin. Field conditioning…I know. I should have been able to hold out longer. Stupid ‘wink” technique. Catch 20 seconds here, a minute there! Every second counts.  You know I can sleep anywhere, any time – and think! I was so proud when I mastered the method. Not many can, you know. Fat lot of good it did when I was completely cut off.”

Shifting in his cross-legged perch on the bottom of the bed, Clint sighed as he came to the point, “I’m just- sorry, I guess…that you guys were left holding the basket…after Thor, well – I don’t even want to imagine what you’re going through.”

Picking at non-existent threads from the blanket spread over the bed, Clint continued, “Uh, Thor and I went back to the facility where we were kept… and, you’ll never believe th- actually, you probably will…the bastard was still there! What is it with supervillians and the need to stay and gloat? – It’s kind of demoralising, although, pretty convenient. So. We’ve got the guy – And he’s calling himself…wait for it… ”

Clint fell silent, leaning forward, an expectant expression on his face as he imagined Tony’s ‘gimme’ look and finally he capitulated, answering gleefully, “Dr Satantastic! Yes, seriously!”

 The archer laughed at the terrible name for a little longer, catering for the absence of Tony’s disbelieving guffaws, before he continued, “So – Tasha just stirred this morning, she’s still pretty sluggish – but as soon as she feels a bit better I’m sure she’ll want to have a ‘talk’ to this Doom wannabe.   _Talking_. Probably with knives. Actually, she won’t need knives, her tongue is plenty sharp… and then, if your lazy ass isn’t already up and about, we’ll find a way to fix this.”

Silence descended again, but it lacked the distinct mocking air of earlier, this time serious, as Clint added, “Be quiet. Cos I’m only going to say this once, and you need to listen. Thanks. Thanks for trying to keep me awake. For watching out for me in that room. For looking after Tasha when I…Thanks for after Loki, for the tower, and …everything. I don’t have much family. And I _really_ don’t like losing what I have.  So, you need to wake up. Wake up Tony – before you can’t.”

This time when the silence descended, it lasted.

******

“I don’t remember what actually happened – but I know you tried to save me. And that, Tony, is more than most people have ever done, and much more than I would have asked. ”

Wanting to close the gap between them, Bruce started to shuffle the chair forward, stilling when it shuddered dangerously on bowed legs.

_Thunder gods._

Shaking his head in exasperation, Bruce stood and moved the few steps to the edge of the bed, turning sideways to half sit, half lean on the mattress besides Tony’s hip as he continued, “Natasha – She’s awake and doing okay. I would have preferred she waited another day, but she insisted she was well enough to _deal_ with our most recent villain – she didn’t have to tire herself out, in any case.” 

Bruce’s fidgeting hand bumped against Tony’s half blanket covered wrist, and his fingers finally stilled, settling over the reassuringly throbbing pulse point, as he continued, “She barely said two words, just sat there caressing that knife of hers…Saruman - I mean, Satantastic or whatever – Sorry, Clint’s been in my ear all afternoon - His real name is Simon Gaswell, he was a chemist working at one of the lead bio-warfare research companies…” 

Bruce trailed off, a little uncertain as to whether he really needed to include the next bit of information, whether it was really necessary…and decided that Tony would find out anyway. And Tony really wouldn’t be impressed that his friends were trying to protect him by lying. 

It was a longshot that Tony could even hear him, but Bruce still felt compelled to keep him in the loop.

“…well, the company crashed when SI became less about the weapons and more about clean energy.  He lost his job, his wife, his house and, well, I guess, _and this is a shock_ ….but, he blamed you. ”

Even as he said it, Bruce was shaking his head. It didn’t make much sense to him, attacking Tony Stark –let alone the ‘Avengers’ collectively – in retaliation for something that happened years ago, that had been more the governments fault (Economic crisis) than Stark Industries.

_Supervillians._

He also knew that it would make at least a modicum more sense, to Tony.

_His genius really didn’t spread to every field._

Bruce’s grip loosened from Tony’s wrist and slid down to settled loosely over the lax hand as he went on, “Long story short, Gaswell discovered, tweaked and manufactured a psychological nerve gas, added an unverified telepathic communication agent, blended it into a lovely cocktail….and then, apparently, picked us as the perfect lab rats.”

Bruce shifted to sit on the edge of the bed more fully, the leg beneath him having started to go numb. “It was the coat attendant at the charity gala. He was paid to slip the canister into Thor’s massive sheepskin thing – which, by the way, Thor apparently took personally, because yesterday he ‘purified the honour’ – by lightning strike. He’s hiding from Agent Coulson at the moment – Coulson having been the one to explain to Fury _exactly why_ there’s half a million dollars’ damage in his cafeteria…and large scorch marks on the ceiling.

Bruce grinned, knowing Tony would enjoy hearing all about someone _else_ being in trouble for scorch marks in the cafeteria when ( _when.)_ he woke _,_ “Anyway. The canister went off in the limo – which is totalled, by the way…and this Gaswell lunatic, who was following us…somehow, and it still baffles me – managed to cart the six of us right off the highway…”

 Leaning in closer, Bruce explained quietly, “That room, Tony…It wa-”

Bruce cut himself off, his eyes widening as he leapt to his feet, both hands moving to clutch the one beneath his own, sure that he’d just felt it twitch.

“-Tony? Are you…? He fell silent, hope lingering, but more sure that he’d imagined i- 

The hand beneath his twitched again, accompanied by a deep shuddering breath, and Bruce broke into a relieved smile as he said, “Oh, thank god – Tony, just take it easy. Nice an- Tony!”

The smile dripped off Bruce’s face as Tony suddenly spasmed, shuddering tremors gripping his frame, his back arching horribly away from the bed as what little colour remained in his face leached away, leaving a sickly grey pallor.   

“Tony! What’s- Can you h-” Bruce asked frantically as he grabbed for Tony’s shoulders, to held him down, afraid that the weakened man would still manage to throw himself bodily from the bed.

Whether coincidence or some other cause, the instant Bruce’s hands touched him, Tony collapsed back to the bed – but it wasn’t exactly an improvement.

Tony remained asleep, his body taught, as if every muscle was drawn up tightly against the next, his skin almost vibrating with the tension, as tiny spasms rocked his frame. Brown that shouldn’t have been visible, but for the near transparency of paper thin eyelids, black eyelashes indistinguishable against deep bruise-like circles, the tips fanned out in stark relief against chalky skin.

And worse than all combined – his low, anguished keening that saturated the room with unmistakable misery.

The door slammed open, and the room was engulfed with medical personnel; shocked and worried exclamations flying as they converged on their patient.

Bruce fled.

******

Bruce hadn’t, _couldn’t_ go very far.     

Not if Tony was- well.

Whatever the reason, he had to stay in case Tony needed him, He’d stopped outside the door, a few feet down the corridor, and was semi-patiently waiting, trying to ‘not hear’ the low buzz of ‘ _seizure?, low bp, God! Stark….”_ from within the room.

Just thinking about what Natasha, Steve and Tony had/were going through, was enough to make Bruce physically ill…and very, _very_ angry. So he tried not to.

He’d lost Thor- remembered the desperation to not believe, to _fix it._  He very briefly remembered the heart stopping ache of losing Clint – and the all-consuming rage that had overwhelmed him.

Waking up to Thor’s _inside_ voice, booming by his side, had been one of the most absolutely gratifying experiences of his entire life. 

Admittedly, for an instant he’d had thoughts along the lines of _afterlife…_ but Nick Fury appearing in his line of vision had quickly dissuaded him of that notion. 

And to be immediately told that Clint was also awake – the world had seemed to tilt back onto its correct axis, and the empty, _dead_ feeling inside had finally disappeared.

And to know that Tony and Steve were still experiencing that feeling… were losing almost all they had, all they loved….

Bruce couldn’t wait until they woke, until they _saw…_

Bruce considered Natasha one of the most emotionally disguised people he’d ever met. And yet, when she’d woken the day before yesterday, and he’d seen the way her eyes had widened just a fraction, and the pure, undiluted _relief_ thathad seeped in….well, he wanted that for Steve and Tony as well.

For Steve - who had already lost everything once.

And for Tony – Who had never truly _had_ anything to loose.

Mostly though, he just wanted to be able to get the image of Tony’s guilt stricken face from his mind. That final memory from before he’d woken – the guilt, shame and self-loathing easily recognisable in wide brown eyes.

******

Naturally, he didn’t hear Clint before the man suddenly dropped from the vent above, landing sure footed before Bruce.

The archer heard the buzz from the room beyond, took in Bruce’s calm position outside and his eyes lit with relieved happiness, as he said, “Tony’s awake- ?” 

The light died before he finished as Bruce shook his head and answered, “No- Something happened, I don’t know –”

Clint paled slightly, his hand coming up to rub at tired eyes as he said quietly, “I do.   Steve’s awake.”

Bruce blanched, almost physically flinching, torn between unparalleled delight that Steve was going to be okay and overwhelming dismay.

Because Tony was now alone.

******

Steve had been awake almost a full day, it had taken 30 minutes to explain the situation.  Steve had spent the last 23 hours demanding to see Tony.

For the medical staff who were used to dealing with the genial and considerate Steve Rogers during post-mission checks and various other occasions, this demanding, difficult and downright intimidating Steve Rogers was quite a jolt to the system.

Thankfully, physically keeping him in bed hadn’t been overly difficult. He’d been white as a sheet, shaking with fatigue and suffering the Armageddon of migraines for most of the first few hours, the pleasant after effects of the gas, 7 days of drug induced coma and a complete lack of true rest over that time.

It hadn’t stopped his determined attempts though, but his double vision, freight train breathing, colt like shakiness and family of variously talented, overly concerned superheroes had.  

For the most part.

Steve had finally managed to get out the door under his own (rather shaky) steam 10 minutes ago, and nothing would keep him in bed any longer.

His S.H.I.E.L.D appointed doctor, and the team had capitulated, (worried they’d look up to see Captain America sized feet disappearing out the window) on the proviso he allow them to push him in a wheelchair.

Steve had immediately agreed, just wanting see Tony.

******

The procession through the corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical facility would be talked about for many years coming.

Captain America, all 6’2, from blond head to sock covered toes, snuggly wrapped in a soft fluffy purple quilt, with only his blue eyes and a shock of blond fringe peeking out, ensconced in an inadequately sized wheel chair.  

Pushed along by the softer side of the Hulk, Bruce Banner – who every few moments was forced to slap away the hands of one mischievous minded archer, lest Steve suddenly be travelling much faster than the perfectly brisk pace Bruce had already set.

For his part, when not trying to abscond with the captain, Clint was mostly well behaved, walking along backwards, hands gesturing as he chatted to Steve, adamantly focusing on the good (Steve awake), rather than the bad (Tony not awake).

Thor completed the spectacle, by simply bringing up the rear, striding along with stately royal bearing, in full Asguardian Thunder god apparel. 

******

Natasha sat by Tony’s side, where she’d been since early that morning. It had taken the combined effort of all the avengers to keep Steve in bed while he recovered sufficiently – but they’d not left Tony alone, each swapping out as they could.

Tony was the same as he had been since the evening before, since Steve had-

Usually olive skin appeared waxen and chalk-white, his eyes sunken and with darker circles than Natasha had ever seen on him, and considering Tony’s penchant for sleepless nights… He hadn’t relaxed in hours, his body tense and visibly distressing to see, hands fisted at his waist, not unclenching for anyone.

His complete and utter misery was palpable, like a thick layer of despair and anguish that clung to his body in a cloying fog of pure heartbreak.

Natasha didn’t consider herself a very ‘touchy-feely’ type person, but the only thing, the _only_ thing she wanted to do right now was soothe the agony from Tony’s mind.

Alone in the room, the medical staff having left, dumbfounded and disturbed, knowing no-one was there to see, Natasha carded her fingers through the damp hair at Tony’s forehead, brushing away from his face.

She didn’t think he even knew she was there.

******

Bruce wheeled Steve into the room, Clint falling silent and Natasha stepping back from the bed as Bruce pushed him in as close as possible. 

Steve was silent as he took in the blanketed form of his lover – simply staring.

One by one, the others slipped out the door - a hand to Steve’s shoulder, a squeeze to the forearm gifted as silent support…and then Steve and Tony were alone.

“God -” – words failed him and Steve felt his throat tighten, his eyes burning a throbbing rhythm in time with his heart.

Rolling impossibly forward, Steve levered himself half out of the chair, a shaking hand reaching up to tentatively brush through tangled hair, stopping to rest along the side of Tony’s face.  Cupping ear, cheek and jaw against his palm, Steve’s thumb ghosted across too pale skin beneath one closed eye.

Settling his weight against the side of the mattress, Steve rested his head on Tony’s taught stomach, eyes glued to his only true reassurance - the hint of glowing blue dimly visible from beneath the thin blanket.

******

Steve woke when he felt the blanket from earlier being tugged up around his shoulders, and forcing his eyes open, unable to believe that he’d _slept –_  he immediately sought Tony.

Nothing. No change.

With a sigh, he turned to see his comforter – Clint.

The archer slumped back into his position, where he’d been sitting at Steve’s feet, leaning tiredly against the wheel of the chair.

Bruce was in a white chair on the other side of the bed – both Bruce and the chair looked like they’d seen better days.

Natasha had obviously dragged a chair in from another room, she was seated at the base of Tony’s bed, legs ticked up, her petite frame half submerged in the chair.

Steve could make out Thor’s feet on the opposite side of the bed, by Bruce – the god stretched out on the cheaply carpeted floor.

Steve nudged Clint with his leg, until the archer was leaning against Steve rather than the uncomfortable chair wheel, as Thor spoke, “Man of Iron will wake.”

Confident, sure, determined – not willing accept any alternative.

Unaccountable as it was, the others took reassurance from his words, eyes brightening a little and faces clearing of doubt slightly.

Bruce replied, “He will – This is _Tony Stark_ we’re talking about…He flew out of a kidnapping wearing his own weapons…”

“No question - He’s _Ironman…._ He flew a nuke into space, then had Shawarma.” Clint added, like that would make sense to anyone.

Steve echoed them, “He’s _Tony…_ He can’t _not._ ”

Silence reigned for a moment, each caught in their own thoughts, until Bruce said, “We were _hoping_ that you’d wake together…but we _thought_ you’d be last, Steve.”

“Super serum capabilities…” Natasha needlessly added, looking sadly over Tony’s still form.

The captain looked up, no surprise shadowing his eyes as he nodded, saying softly, “So did I.”

Clint couldn’t help grinning, despite the subject matter as he interjected, “Then again, we should have known. No one does stubborn quite like Tony.”

Steve bit his lip as he sighed, obvious worry clouding his features as he murmured, “That’s what I’m worried about. What if he doesn’t give in? You’ve all seen how he gets – how he won’t admit defeat come hell or high water…and- he thinks-”

“We’re dead.” Natasha said flatly.

Steve nodded, continuing, “Exactly. What if that pushes him over the edge – he’ll fight to stay awake. What if he doesn’t give in?”

Clint interrupted, aiming for reassuring, “Not even Tony can stay awake forever – you’ve had to put him to bed plenty of times, Cap…”

“And if it’s still too late? The doctors are sayin-” Steve tried again.

“The ‘Doctors’ don’t know what…don’t know _who_ – they’re talking about. He’s going to wake up. Start believing otherwise and we’ll have to… _talk._ ” Natasha said, firmly.

Steve nodded, appropriately scolded, and turned his attention back to Tony, saying quietly, “I don’t know where he gets it – the…I don’t know, _will_? _Strength? Resolve_? _Pure Stubborn pig-headedness?_ ”

“Oh –definitely the third. And he gets it the same places he gets his _sheer level of irritating_ and his _innate ability to bullshit_.” Bruce injected, grinning softly as he settled a hand on Tony’s ankle.

Natasha added, “How he can be both _charming and obnoxious in equal measure at the same time_ , and the way his _Trouble Attracting Ability_ is only outshone by the way ‘ _Reckless is his middle name’._ ”

“But only when it’s not-” Clint began, but was cut off by Thor, whom they’d all believed to be asleep.

“It is all shown in the _way he lifts Mjölnir._ ”

You could have heard a pin drop. 

“What!?” Clint screeched, flopping down to be able to see Thor beneath the bed.

In the very early months of their Avenger team-up, Mjölnir had been a subject of hot interest – naturally, this had eventually led to an evening of – _Me! My Turn! Let me try!_

Steve had been the only one to _actually_ lift the hammer – and no one had been overly surprised. Clint swore to hell and back that he’d made it wobble, which most of the others conceded with mocking smirks. Natasha had refused to even try and Bruce had claimed that he’d already tried and failed, and wouldn’t listen when they tried to point out that only the _Hulk_ had tried.

Tony had finally capitulated to Clint’s teasing and prompting – and had laughed at the expected outcome.

“’Tis truly so. Although Brother Tony does not know of this either.” Thor explained, sitting up as he continued, “He was afflicted with the dreaming walk at the time, and simply moved it Mjölnir from his path…”

Clint scowled as he said, “That- That cheating, lying-! But why wouldn’t he show us? Brag about it…?”

Thor shook his head as he replied, “You misunderstand, Tony did not misconstrue his inability to lift Mjölnir – he must have felt he was unworthy – and thus he was. It is surely the same with you – for I can think of none more worthy.”

Clint glowed. Both figuratively and literally – a rare blush stealing over his face as he shifted uncomfortably, stilling as Steve’s hand settled reassuringly on his shoulder, although the captain adding, “Makes perfect sense to me”, didn’t help with the pleased embarrassment.

Taking pity on the archer, Bruce said, “He wears his masks in such a way that none know they are masks…perhaps not even himself.’ gesturing towards Tony.

Steve’s gaze never left his lover’s still form as he disagreed, “Not entirely true. Not anymore…We’re starting to see through those masks…in fact, I’d say it won’t be long until some are completely transparent.”

******

Hope was getting harder to maintain.   Every passing minute with no response. Each doctor that shook his head in despair.

After the third doctor had semi-subtly suggested relocating Tony to a long-term care facility, Natasha had forbidden the medical personal from entering the room, barring an emergency.

Steve hadn’t left Tony’s side for more than a minute since he himself had woken, he slept, ate, drank and lived with one hand holding Tony’s.

The other’s had also refused to leave, until the fantastic four had almost been eaten by a giant moth while covering New York.

Bruce, Clint, Thor and Natasha had returned to duty. Steve hadn’t even been asked.

It was late afternoon, the dying sun sending glorious wheals of pink and gold encrusted fire-cloud across the evening sky, visible through the window of Tony’s room.  The natural beauty barely even registered with Steve, who always appreciated the raw gorgeousness of mother earth.

He’d moved, ditching the wheel chair for a soft office chair filched by Clint from what was possibly Nick Fury’s office itself – Steve didn’t care enough to find out.  Most of the time that chair sat abandoned by the bed anyway –Steve somehow fitting his 6’2 body into the minimal space on the bed beside Tony.

He’d thought about taking Tony home – their bed, privacy, control. Only the slight fear that something would happen -that he wouldn’t be able to fix- kept him in the medical facility.

His throat was already ragged from talking, coaxing, begging, and demanding. He had no intention of stopping.

Not until Tony told him to shut up.

“-soon. Things are happening here that you won’t want to miss. _Like what?_ Okay, well - Gaswell was denied bail today - I know – you would have gone for something more creative. Yeah – Clint suggested that. No – Natasha vetoed the whole plan.  Because I wouldn’t have.”

The conversation didn’t make a whole lot of sense to anyone but Steve, seeing as how it was fairly one sided, but Steve wasn’t concerned with appearances.

His fingers traced the tiny lines at Tony’s temple, smoothing them as he continued, “For what he did – is doing – to you…I’d let him burn in hell.  We were never in that room Tony – _you’re_ not in that room – it was all in our minds. Come on genius, I _know_ you can figure it out… ”

His other hand traced a fleeting pattern over the exposed rim of the arc reactor, not wanting to cause bad memories if Tony were in any way aware, but unable to help himself, “Please love - you need to wake up. I need you to wake up. Please, _please_ wake up.”

Nine days. It was almost unfathomable to Steve.  How does anyone stay awake _nine days?_  Tony’s mind hadn’t shut down for well over a week and Steve was silently, completely, terrified that the doctors were correct. That even if Tony “fell asleep” – it would still be too late in reality. That this was a permanent vegetative coma, and Tony wasn’t going to wake ever again.

He’d forbidden the thought from crossing his mind – unable to bear it.

“Go to sleep and wake up Tony.  I can’t lose you. Not at all – but especially not like this”, moving slightly, Steve framed Tony’s face with his hands, pressing a kiss against unresponsive lips as he said, “You’ve got nothing to prove. I’m here waiting for you.  Please – just wake up. **”**

 

Lying down again, pulling Tony’s tense body closer to his side, Steve whispered, his lips pressed close to Tony’s ear. “Just sleep, Love. Close your eyes and rest…For me. ”

How many times had he uttered those exact same words?

 _Tony_ , who didn’t listen when his body screamed for rest, when his mind was pounding angrily from overuse, who refused to give in and allow himself what he needed – _but would give in for Steve._

 _Steve,_ who could retrieve Tony- exhausted, mentally and physically fatigued- from whatever he was still resolutely working on, and with only a few meaningful touches and a handful of words, guide Tony to their bed.

Would he ever get to do it again?

******

He blinked suddenly, registering only dazzling white light and music so soft he could barely hear the base melody.  

He was numb – a kind of peaceful numb, where nothing hurt, in any way, and never would again.

_Huh._

He’d honestly been expecting a more fire and brimstone type reception.

The thought of fire had him noticing the band of heat that seemed to encircle his arm, and the gentle puff of moist warmth against his throat. Without true consideration or deliberation, his head turned slightly and his already distorted vision was blinded by a golden lit head of hair that could only belong to Steve.

And Steve’s presence meant he was apparently still alive after all, because there was no way in hell they would ever end up in the same afterlife.

He blinked again, several times, until his vision finally cleared and Steve was less blurry, but more tired and worn – yet still undeniably perfect.  

Overcome by a sudden desire to card his fingers through that hair and trace a hand over the angles of that face, he made an attempt to lift his hand, which was immediately and completely aborted.   

Apparently, the numbness he’d felt before was more commonly known as bone-weary fatigue. He felt like he hadn’t slept in over a week.  And of course, the memory of watching one friend after another fall asleep and die, came flooding back.

Abruptly his desire to touch the inexplicably _alive_ Steve became an absolute _need_ – and fighting the exhaustion, Tony raised a fumbling hand and dropped it onto the back of Steve’s neck. 

Solid, real, and more importantly – suddenly awake.

***

Steve didn’t do the slow, ‘ _double-take’_ or ‘ _blinking, huh’_ reaction that was typical in such situations, instead, his eyes simply opened and he exclaimed “Tony!” and lunged.

Tony was gratified to find himself enveloped in glorious warmth and pressure, from shoulder to thigh. A hand came up to cradle his head, as he was pulled up and away from the mattress.   

He wasn’t sure how he managed it, but somehow his noodle limp arms made it around Steve’s waist and Tony held on for all he was worth. 

Steve’s face was half hidden against his neck, and Tony turned into the soft hair, images of Steve lying so cold and still, _dead_ , consuming his ability to think, to rationalise and he was suddenly speaking, “I’m sorry – I…Steve. I tri- I tried so damn hard. I promise. But I wasn’t strong eno-”

He tried to continue, needing to get it out, to make Steve understand, but the lips suddenly covering his manage to steal his voice long enough for Steve to pull back, and resting his forehead against Tony’s, he breathed, “God – Thankyou – tha- Tony. You- No. – Just, thank-god.”

Thoroughly confused, and equally terrified, Tony blurted, “Steve? – What…you-we all died. Didn’t we? Well, obviously not- I mean…Oh please tell me this isn’t a dream, a nightmare. You can’t do thi- You can’t be dead! ”

Wrapping Tony more tightly against him, as both comfort and reassurance, Steve hushed him, “No. No - Hey. Hey! Tony. I’m fine. Real. Shh- no one’s dead. We’re all alive and everyone is going to be okay.”

Tony, his muscles throbbing with sudden overuse after a long period of strain, slumped as he said, “Good. Alive is good.  I- How?  It wasn’t me. I did try. I really-” he cut himself off with a pained groan as his left hand clawed itself into a serious cramp.

Steve captured the spasming hand between his own, gently massaging as he spoke soothingly, able to see the shock starting to set in, “No. You did more than try. You did perfectly.You held on longer than any of us – fought the hardest. Even though it was not as it seemed and it almost killed you – I’m so proud.”

Leaning in closer to rest his throbbing head against Steve’s arm, the unmasked trust in Tony’s eyes startled Steve, as the genius simply (and very atypically) accepted everything he was told. “Oh. Okay then. So. Alive. I’m liking this turn of events. Tell me more. ”

Steve **_grinned_** , pure relief and happiness making him a little giddy as he explained,“Basically. Evil megalomaniac with a grudge, decided to see which Avenger would break last, with the added bonus of possibly killing us all.”

Tony, stopping Steve’s massage by turning and grasping the larger hand, clasping them together, nodded along as if this was all pretty run of the mill, which, as ridiculous as it sounded, it truly was.

 “– He drugged us at the gala. Thors coat.  The limo crashed and he pulled us from the wreckage to spirit us away to ‘lair unknown’ – yes, seriously.  I’m not telling you his chosen moniker – ask Clint.” Steve ignored the way Tony’s eyes widened with anticipation, continuing his explanation.

“Any way.  We were all under some sort of drug induced psycho/telepathy communication nerve stimulant type coma thing” At Tony’s eye roll, Steve added petulantly, “Ask Bruce”.

Tony nodded and Steve, his free hand gently trailing down Tony’s back, concluded, “Somehow, he planted the idea that if we slept, we’d die. In reality, we were all in comas and the longer we stayed awake in our minds, the less chance there was we’d actually wake.”

Tony simply nodded, understanding and accepting the bizarre explanation with ease – this was their lives.

Pulling Tony even closer as the memory of the last three days pushed nearer, Steve added, “You. You gave us all a hell of a fright.   You’ve been ‘awake’ for over nine days, almos…actually. Ten days.  The docs here at S.H.I.E.L.D”, Tony’s expression was so familiarly disgusted that Steve had to laugh, before continuing, “They said that you were gone. We didn’t believe it – _couldn’t. **”**_

_Thank-god._

Tony looked a little overwhelmed at how close it had actually been – but considering he’d thought it was even closer…he managed to accept it with minimal issue, for now content with just asking, “And once you all woke up? You were-are-okay?”

Steve, noticing what Tony hadn’t asked, answered, “Yes, we’re okay now.  When we first woke? Fatigue, dehydration, headaches, mild muscle dystrophy…or any combination thereof.”  

Managing to catch Tony’s eyes, Steve added, “So, how do _you_ feel?”

“Fi-” Tony’s typical answer was cut off by Steve’s inelegant snort as he interrupted.

“Fatigue and muscle strain? Well, you’re draped all over me like a wet noodle…”, as he spoke, the Captain lifted Tony’s limp hand and drew it to his lips, pressing a wet kiss to his palm before continuing.

“Headache? Like a jackhammer, symphony orchestra and freight train in central park zoo.” Cupping the back of Tony’s head, Steve soothed the tiny little crease between Tony’s eyes – always a tell.

“Dehydration? Let’s see…” and Steve pulled him into a passionate kiss – albeit dry.

Tony admitted defeat gracefully, simply murmuring “Bingo” as he pulled Steve back into the kiss.

A moment later Steve said, “I’ve already hit the call button, so someone will be up to check on you in a minute.”

Tony grimaced and his eyes brightened with a manipulative gleam that Steve recognised very well, asking, “Are you sure everyone is okay – Tasha, Clint – where is everyone?”

Cautiously Steve replied, “I’m sure, Tony. They’re fine. A little shaken, having seen each other – well. We’re all going to be okay, in fact – they’re suited up at the moment, providing back up for Reed. Onl-”

Tony flashed him a wicked smile, as he replied, “Good. Then no doctor. I’ll submit to Bruce.  And Bruce only, looking me ov-”

Before he’d even finished, the door opened and Bruce walked in, Steve finishing his own sentence just a touch smugly, “Only _Bruce_ is still here.”

Laughing at the _caught_ look on Tony’s face as he approached them, Bruce spoke, “You’ll submit!? Wonderful. Okay, wost patient ever – show me those eyes of yours, but first…”

Tony groaned at having been out manoeuvred, but obediently, perhaps even _enthusiastically_ , allowed Bruce to pull him into a hug, both remembering the feeling of losing the other not very long ago.  

Pulling back, allowing Steve to help more than was perhaps really necessary, Tony turned to look less obediently into the pen light Bruce was brandishing.

******

Epilogue

That evening and the next day had been filled with repeated visits from thrilled team members, agents, long time ( _long suffering_ ) air force colonel’s and  furiously doting CEO’s -  until Tony had begged to be allowed to just tweet his status.

Bruce had checked his vitals forty-seven _, forty-seven_! times (at least 46.5 times too many in Tony’s opinion) before he’d been convinced to allow Tony out of bed.

Of course, the fact that Bruce had been required to pick Tony’s exhausted (yet stupidly stubborn) ass up from the floor, not once, not twice, but _three_ times may have had something to do with the vital checks.

All three falls were during the 20 minutes Steve had finally been convinced to go shower. Tony had only tried it once with Steve in the room.  The man’s tongue could strip paint from a wall with only his perfectly justified anger and reasonable disappointment – and Tony got the _‘you scared me’_ eyes as well.

It had taken almost the whole day and a half before he’d managed to stand on his own two shaky legs – and by then he’d had enough. _More than enough._ And he declared that he was going home and any overprotective but really hot lover’s, devil possessed science bro’s, pop tart loving thunder gods, scary as shit assassin witches and …well, _Clint –_ were welcome (he wouldn’t _stop_ them anyway) to come with him.

And so that was how he’d ended being pretty much carried into the elevator at the (his - _their_ ) tower.   

His headache had finally faded to a dull thud at the base of his skull, and his muscles still felt like jelly – but at least jelly was painless. He wasn’t dehydrated, but had still allowed Bruce to force two glasses of water onto him as they’d all eaten Pizza in the den.

They’d spoken about the past fortnight or so, but only in passing, (no doubt, once the lingering shock wore of there would be a lot more chatter, and a formal debrief) comments about the strangeness of sharing a dreamscape, and the moment of complete satisfaction when Tony suddenly face-palmed as his mind found the one detail that was wrong – that didn’t fit.

The lamp.

The lamp had burnt constantly for ten days and the level of kerosene and amount of wick had never changed.

It didn’t seem like much, and made no difference to what had already happened, but it still felt like a victory.

And if they sat closer than normal while ‘The Princess Bride’ played, or they’d touched a little more than necessary with the pizza passing?   Well – they were the damn _Avengers._  

Everything they did was kosher.

And the reassuring glancing touches went a long way to reaffirming the fact that, hey! They didn’t die. Again.

******

Steve had given up the guise of ‘ _practically carrying’_ in favour of ‘ _literally carrying_ ’, sweeping a strangely non-protestant Tony into his arms as they’d retired to bed.

They’d changed, brushed teeth and exchanged more than a few simple goodnight kisses.  Tony was curled carefully into Steve’s side, the super soldier sprawled half on his stomach, one arm draped over Tony’s stomach, his fingers intermittently blocking and revealing the soft glow of the arc reactor as they drifted closer to much needed sleep.

Tony had honestly though he was fine. 

Only - _Sleep._

_And suddenly he was terrified._

Because there was no way this wasn’t a dream, a hallucination – he’d wake up, or refocus and be back in that room, alone. With Thor, Clint, Bruce, Natasha… _Steve_ all dead.

Dead bodies – corpses rotting, eyes blazing with hatred and blame as they stalked towards him, hands out stretched and dripping with blood, as they accused him, tormented him “Why weren’t you stronger? Why were you so weak? Pathetic! You thought you could avenge us…you couldn’t even _save_ us! You think we’d accept you – like you? That we’d want you! How could we possibly love-”

“-love? Tony?  Hey, hey! ” His imaginings dissolved around the real Steve, who was suddenly above him, lit like some enchanting wonder by the arc reactor, eyes wide and concerned and lips pressed thin with sympathetic sorrow.

Emotions shot between their intense gaze, each asking, offering and accepting, and Steve pulled Tony closer, upset but not surprised by the slight tremble he could detect.

Going to sleep the first time had been easy for Steve – it had happened accidentally. 

The idea of it though, even in hindsight, scared him half to death – and _he_ hadn’t been left completely alone, with nothing but death for company for three days.

Yet, Tony _had_ to sleep.

Steve had no idea what he was about to say, until he opened his mouth and said it, “It’s over. This is real and I’m here. Now. You’re going to go to sleep. I’m going to be here. And you’re going to have nightmares.  And I’m going to be here….I promise.”

Tony stared up at him, eyes dark with something that would forever remain unspeakable, yet somehow understood and eventually they simply slid closed, and Tony dropped easily into sleep.

After all – When had Steve ever broken a promise to him?

******

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Well - I hope you're not too disappointed with this conclusion. Please let me know what you think! R&R :)
> 
> I don't use a beta - it's just me, and while I do the best I can, mistakes inevitably escape my notice...so please, if you happen to notice a glaring spelling or grammatical error - let me know. Thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't kill me.  
> I know what I'm doing. Promise. 
> 
> Part 2 - ASAP. 
> 
> I don't use a beta - it's just me, and while I do the best I can, mistakes inevitably escape my notice...so please, if you happen to notice a glaring spelling or grammatical error - let me know. Thanks.


End file.
